


she left them, taking everything

by Lyona



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lyanna Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 05:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10298147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyona/pseuds/Lyona
Summary: Lyanna survives Robert's Rebellion. Lyanna, after everything, can't bare the thought of never knowing her boy. Ned takes Jon North and raises him as his own, with the promise of one day, reuniting Lyanna with her son.





	

She was seldom called Lyanna Baratheon, only by the lordlings and ladies of court, though only as a formality. She was a wolf - beautiful and wild - that was plain, no matter what southern crowns they placed on her dark curls. All who came across her knew it, too. Lyanna was not skilled in hiding her feelings upon arriving to King's Landing at seven-and-ten, never having thought of honesty as a vulnerable trait. She was taught it was what earned that honesty and keeping true to your word was the most valuable way to earn respect, and she believed it, and she was honest in most things. Though she came to realize not speaking the truth, remaining silent, was the same as lying. She didn't realize that until the end. 

She was taught her courtesies as well as any other highborn girl - albeit she never really used them when she was in the North - but after everything she was too raw to put on the necessary airs of a queen. And they all knew, while she was beautiful, she was not made to be a Southern queen. It was strange, how they'd all chanted her name on the battlefield while not truly knowing the girl they fought for. But then no one had seemed to understand that Lyanna Stark had never needed someone to fight for her. 

Lyanna often wondered how even her brothers could think she would be taken. Her brothers, each of them who knew her so well, knew she wasn't made of glass like other ladies, like Robert thought her to be. They'd known her their whole lives, they knew her beauty hid a body and soul full of iron and wolf blood. Even Brandon, who was so like herself, somehow forgot this. She could tell by the quiet disappointment that Ned exhibited, that they'd simply loved her too much to ever even consider she'd forsake her family in such a way. And while she would mourn her brother and father - especially her brother - everyday and every moment for the rest of her life, she didn't want to imagine what they would have thought of her if they knew the truth. Lyanna was grateful that - through Ned's loyal silence - only a scarce few seemed to understand the truth of the war. 

Jon Arryn knew little of her before rallying his banners in her name - in her brother's, her father's, too - but upon meeting her in person in King's Landing, he looked shocked. He saw more than the beautiful girl the mummers sang of, that he'd expected. While, yes, she was as beautiful as the songs said, if not more so, she didn't run into Robert's arms like a lovestruck girl after so long of a separation. She lingered painfully close to Ned, occasionally stealing frantic glances out the windows, as if debating to run. She was broken from this war, and the songs didn't end that way. Jon could see how she seemed to steel herself when Robert entered the room, removing her hand from her brother's arm and walking forward to bravely enter her new world she clearly didn't desire. He saw some of her that day, to Lyanna's dismay. 

She tried her hardest to hide her true feelings, but it was too soon to do so with ease. Every smile was an effort, every step into the throne room felt like walking on Brandon's corpse. She tried not to flinch when someone would speak Brandon's name, even fondly. Jon's eyes would always find her in these times. She'd seen the look in his eyes, the slight confusion the day she arrived to King's Landing. And that developed to realization and knowing overtime. Lyanna panicked when she realized he _knew,_ and if that secret became exposed, the ultimate one could follow.

But he seemed to recognize her horror, and he'd spare her a sympathetic smile when he'd catch her doing something that seemed telling. When, after being given Princess Elia's chambers, sleep didn't come to her for days. She knew she was more obvious in her misery whenever her gaze found the Iron Throne. She could never hold back the haunted look written all over her face. So she tried her hardest to look away. It had been - and would always be - horrible to behold it. Even as her new husband - her second, who should've been her first and only - sat on it, she could only picture the Mad King, only could picture where her brother and father must've been. He was one of the few that seemed to understand, that despite being Queen, it would never make her happy, for she'd destroyed any true chance of happiness long ago, when she thought she was finding it.

She, who'd been only six-and-ten and didn't count on the consequences of her selfishness. Didn't count on just how much Brandon loved her, didn't count on Aerys' madness. 

Rhaegar, however...he'd been a grown man. Honorable, good-natured, gentle, if not a bit sullen. And perhaps a little mad. Somewhere, Lyanna knew not where - somewhere between sad songs, the Knight of the Laughing Tree and promises in the dark of Winterfell's godswood - Lyanna had forgotten her dragon prince was just that, a dragon. A Targaryen. 

But forgetting the possibility of blood madness, he had far more consequential responsibilities than she had as a girl of six-and-ten. Rhaegar loved her in a way she never dreamt possible, as she loved him, who thought the same, having been assigned the duty of marriage and heirs since birth, as she had. But he was like her - he'd never adhere to his fate. He was gentle where she was harsh, and her angry where he was calm. But in the end, he was as much a dragon as she a wolf, and they fell for each other in a wild collision of fiery passion and gentle understanding, with both of them too full of everything else to know which way was up anymore. 

Lyanna still felt like lightning was coursing through her bones when she thought of Rhaegar, even as the years past, it didn't fade. It was painful. The true pain would come on the nights she would dream of him. Sometimes she was back with him in the Tower of Joy, braiding her hair in her mirror as Rhaegar slid behind her to gently press his hands to her growing stomach. 

The one that truly made her wake up in a fit of tears were the ones where he was in Winterfell. A little boy with a head full of dark curls was always walking through the courtyard, looking lost and sad, and there was Rhaegar, always standing behind him. He always had the same wistful look on his face - and sometimes tears in his eyes - but so much love. Sometimes he would lock eyes with her and he'd move his lips, saying a name she could never hear. 

She never stopped loving him. Even when she tried to hate him - _hate his memory,_ she'd remind herself, and the truth always choked her - she never could, despite everything. Perhaps they both went a little mad together, lost in their lust and love. And for that she'd forgotten her family, who loved her so dearly they'd risen all of Westeros to save her.

But she hadn't been a mother then, didn't think about Rhaegar's children, that he was abandoning them just as much as she was abandoning her family. Now, as a mother, she knew she would never have done something like that if it meant leaving her child. Everything she felt for Rhaegar would never fade, had made her forget everything she'd held dear, but she did not love him as she loved Jon. Rhaegar worshiped her, treated her as a equal, understood her and loved her. And she loved him in return, more each day as she grew to know him.

Lyanna would never place anything above Jon, even the very second she heard his cries echo in her room, she loved him so much she wept with joy. The first time in her life she had cried out of happiness. She would never leave Jon if she could help it, not for love, or freedom, not anything. She wondered now how she could love a man who could leave his children, whose blood stained the walls of this place she now called home. 

Lyanna also didn't know it during the Rebellion - although she'd heard whispers, she was more interested in swordplay and riding than the power games of the South - that Rhaegar had been plotting to overthrow his father, by securing alliances with the other great houses. He saw his duty as a son was outweighed by his duty to his people, and knew the Mad King had to be disposed of, as Aerys grew more and more unstable before his eyes. More prisoners burned, Queen Rhaella's arms always had marks from his long nails, like she'd been cut with knives, or so she heard. Lyanna knew he was mad, even before Brandon and her father were murdered. She'd heard as many tales as any other person in Westeros, but her father forbid her and her brothers from discussing it, knowing the King's mad rage was not exclusive to the common folk. 

Rhaegar needed the great houses, to help him secure the throne for the safety of the Realm. But he fell so deeply in love with Lyanna that he seemed to devalue his duty. Lyanna hadn't known of his plot at the time, but she'd known why he'd taken her to Dorne. Aerys didn't even trust his own son, suspecting plots long before they were truly in the making. 

Lyanna understood that he was keeping her safe from his father, who would take his marriage to her as another plot to overthrow him. She knew enough from Rhaegar to know what he would do to her - and to him - if he found them. 

While Rhaegar hid her in tower, out of the reach of his father, everything collapsed around them rapidly. 

Lyanna wasn't sure if she would have done anything differently if she'd known what Rhaegar was giving up. She knew he was choosing her, and she him. She thought she knew what her choice would lead to - she expected the disappointment of her family and a scandal, but ultimately everything would work out because they loved each other. She knew her family would just want her to be happy. She had not anticipated that they'd think Rhaegar had stolen her. 

But Rhaegar must have known what he was truly giving up by choosing Lyanna - she knew he was gifted with the Targaryen gift; the Dragon Dreams - and chose her anyway. Any chance of Rhaegar's plan to rid the Realm of the Mad King were destroyed the moment he ran off with Lord Rickard's daughter and Lord Robert's betrothed. In an instant he lost the North, the Vale, and the Stormlands all for her. And in doing so allowed Aerys to continue to sit the Iron Throne. 

Lyanna, who was tellingly uncomfortable at first, grew to understand Robert's declaration of Rhaegar's madness. She knew they'd both gone mad for each other. She could almost forgive him for not seeing the Rebellion, perhaps thinking as she had that everything would work out in the end. But what she could not understand was how he could leave his own children, how he could choose anything - even her - over them.

But she was a mother. She'd given her child life, felt him stir inside her. She wondered if fathers simply felt differently. She knew scarce fathers who genuinely loved their children, who thought of them as pawns in their house's advancement. But Rhaegar had never seemed to be that man, not with the way he spoke softly to her growing belly, or smiled with tears in his purple eyes at the feel of their child's soft kicks. She could not imagine him not loving his children, but he'd chosen her over Rhaenys and Aegon all the same. Lyanna would never understand that. 

No one else seemed to dwell on Rhaegar. Many if not all forgot the honorable, quiet man they'd all known him to be and replaced that image with that of a monster. Another mad Targaryen who'd kidnapped a innocent maiden. Even if Jon Arryn knew that was not all of the truth, the way he spoke of Rhaegar made it clear that she was not the one he blamed.

Stannis seemed to know, too, of the truth behind Rhaegar and Lyanna. If he did, it at least explained his attitude towards her, that Robert was insulted by on her behalf. And perhaps why Robert gave Storm’s End to his youngest brother, as opposed to Stannis. Lyanna understood it, though. Stannis had starved and suffered in her name, and even if he didn't know the truth, perhaps he just resented her for what she'd done. Taken or gone willingly, she didn't think it would matter to him. However, she'd later learn that his resentment stemmed from Robert's decision to go to war for her. He did not see the need to send thousands to their deaths all for one girl, even if Robert loved her. Robert never seemed to forgive Stannis for devaluing Lyanna to his face, all but banishing him to Dragonstone. She wasn’t insulted by Stannis, she deserved hatred, not forgiveness. She knew she was not worth thousands dying for. If even she didn't like him exactly, she admired Stannis for not putting on fronts of courtesy when he spoke to her. 

 

If Renly resented her he gave no hints to it, he was only a child during the war, and he didn’t experience the blood that had been spilled in her name. He loved her as a sister and loved her well. He reminded her of Benjen - all easy laughs and kind words - and she loved him dearly. As he grew up and people began to whisper of him, it was one of the rare times Lyanna actually used her power as Queen. Anyone who spoke of Renly’s nighttime activities as to insult the kind boy, she swiftly put an end to their harsh words with a few, very un-queenly threats, feeling the need to protect him as she once protected Benjen. 

 

Ned, the only one who truly knew everything, didn't speak of his feelings towards her. He hardly spoke to her at all, which hurt even more. Had it been Brandon, he'd have shouted and screamed himself hoarse for hours and in the end made sure she knew he loved her, forgave her, forgotten it and they’d be happy again. He’d bring her and her boy home to Winterfell, to Myr, to the Wall, anywhere she wanted, anywhere that he could keep her safe and happy. He'd do whatever she wanted, honor and kings be damned. 

 

But Ned, no. Honorable Ned couldn't forgive her, even if he still loved her as dearly as before. Yes, he held her tight to him in her delirium in Dorne, begged her to stay with him, stay with Benjen, stay with her boy. Kissed her brow and begged his little Lya to stay. But when her fever broke, his grey eyes dried. He brought her to the capital - to Robert - barely talking, and only about how much Jon resembled her, telling her of his own son by Catelyn Tully, now Catelyn Stark. A son he'd yet to meet. 

He loved her Jon already. When Lyanna found her voice, she'd brought up her son's half-siblings. Ned, in one of his last moments where he truly acted as he once had, had sworn to her the same fate would not befall her son. They'd decided in Dorne - when Rhaegar's knights had fallen, with her secret dying with them save for Ned and Howland Reed - that he would claim him as his own, to keep him from the befalling the same fate as Rhaegar’s other children. 

This reassured her, but as King’s Landing came into sight, Lyanna had broken down into hysteria, something she’d held back for months. Upon hearing of her brother’s death, she wanted to throw herself from her Dornish tower, but did not for the babe inside her that she already loved. 

To be parted with him - after becoming her only source of joy in what seemed to be a destined lifetime of guilt and misery - would destroy the last pieces of herself, the few that remained. She knew her son would be safe with Ned, but after the bloodshed, after all the loss she’d endured, she couldn’t bare to leave him, to never know him. 

She’d begged Ned - thinking of Brandon, again, who’d do anything for her - to take her elsewhere, not to Robert, not to this bloodied place. Anywhere, as long as she had her son with her. Ned - wise beyond his years - had subdued her, carefully reminding her of Queen Rhaella. The Queen who had fled to Dragonstone only to die, with her two children fleeing Westeros, with a fleet of Robert’s men following them to destroy the remnants of House Targaryen. 

“They will be murdered, Lyanna.” He'd murmured quietly. “If they escape Robert’s wrath by the grace of the gods, they will spend their lives running, always afraid, always waiting…You don’t want that for your son. I couldn't...” Ned's voice cracked, and Lyanna understood. He couldn't bare losing either of them, too.

Lyanna wanted to weep, but she found she couldn’t as she smoothed a shaky hand over her son’s head. Ned looked down at him as well, 

“He will be happy in Winterfell.” He promised, “He’ll grow up as we did. He will be happy and safe.” Lyanna’s chest heaved as she tore her gaze away from her boy, and even that pained her, 

“Do you promise? That he will be happy?” Ned’s eyes were soft, and he looked so apologetic. This was clearly killing him, parting his little sister from her babe. It almost seemed for a moment that he really would take them away, to spare one of the last parts of their family from more suffering. It seemed as though the Starks would never truly be happy again, a thought that clearly crushed them both. But he was Ned, her honorable, wise brother and Lyanna knew him well enough to know he was right. That Ned valued duty over all else, but he was willing to put that aside for her, to protect his sister's son from the wrath of his king, and friend. Later, Lyanna would reflect on this as a testament of just how much Ned loved her. 

 

Ned kissed her forehead, a rare thing he’d not done since they were children. 

 

“I promise, Lya.” Lyanna shook, gazing back down at her boy, 

 

“I won’t survive this, Ned. Not knowing him.” She whispered, and Ned looked like he was in agony. She’d never seen him so torn up by anything than she had in the last few months. First finding her in the Tower of Joy, in her bed of blood that she shouldn’t have survived, crying and pleading with her, broken down in a way she’d never seen him, never expected him capable of. 

Ned seemed to resolve in something, looking determined, 

 

“You will know him. I swear. One day, I will find a way for you to be with him, even if you won’t be able to…” He trailed off, as if the words were too hard even for him to hear. Lyanna smiled weakly at him,

 

“I know I will never be a mother to him.” Lyanna said, eyes soft and sad, “But just being anything to him is enough.” She looked back down at her boy, “But he is everything to me. If he is safe, that is all I could ever hope for."

 

Even if he would not love her, loving him, knowing he was safe, and knowing that he would be loved by Ned was more than enough for Lyanna. 

 

Still, she knew she’d lose another piece of herself - more painful, more essential than the others - when Jon would go to Winterfell with his new father. 

 

When Ned and Lyanna finally reached the capital, Robert accepted her warmly - picking her up, kissing her with suspiciously red-rimmed eyes - and even held her son. But no, he was Ned’s bastard, now and always. Robert never would’ve taken such care in holding the infant if he’d known who his true father was. Even knowing that Jon was safe - hidden under this lie - seeing Robert holding her babe made her heart beat furiously in her chest.

 

But Jon would not be her son, so Robert would never touch him. Ned would raise her boy in Winterfell, far away from Robert and the Lannisters, who seemed to have no qualms murdering babes.   

 

Three days after arriving to King's Landing, with the blood on the walls still being painted over, Lyanna was wed to Robert. Broken and beaten, but still stunningly beautiful in a maiden's ivory silk gown that felt like another lie. Ned all but held her up as he walked her to his king in the Sept. It was not their gods looking down on them on her wedding day. 

 

A day later, once his sister had been wedded and bedded and was now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he rode north to his wife - Brandon’s, in another life - at Riverrun with Lyanna’s babe, taking more and more of Lyanna the farther he rode from her. 

 

After, he seldom spoke to her - perhaps out of guilt, or anger, Lyanna preferred anger, she deserved it - and only wrote  to her in depth when she birthed a babe, or when his wife gave one to him. 

Lyanna would often think of Winterfell, and ho it was likely she would never see it again. She wished she’d at least looked back as she rode off into the night with her dragon prince.  

 

It was hard for Lyanna, being alone in the capital with no family, and few friends. She was the ‘Dragon’s whore’ after all, or so they whispered when they thought she couldn’t hear. She only really grew close with Renly, and - oddly - Varys. Though Varys seemed to know too much for Lyanna to ever feel completely at ease with him. He betrayed nothing, but neither did she, and she recognized that he seemed to know more than anyone else. It made her wary, but for some reason, she trusted him. 

 

Being alone in King’s Landing was harder still as the years wore on. Lyanna often wondered how she could've thought she could be happy without her family. _The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,_ her father used to tell them. She'd listened, and took it to heart, but in the end she'd forgotten and paid for it.

In the throne room she would still picture her father burning, her beloved brother dying in a effort to save him. She hated herself for causing that. Hated herself even more for not appreciating what she had in Winterfell. All she saw was how small her world was, how defined her destiny. She left without a thought, not thinking of the consequences, not even thinking of how her absence would effect her brothers. She wanted to go back, even if she couldn’t change a thing, she wanted a day in Winterfell again. She wanted to argue with Brandon, she wanted to hear Ned's long-suffering sigh and she wanted to hear Benjen's feet behind her everywhere she went. 

After a while, she didn’t wander the Red Keep like a ghost, she didn’t think of Elia Martell or her babes as often. She laughed more, and her courtesies became even more - almost laughably - forced as she became more of the wolf-girl she once had been. Lyanna was never truly whole again, and the nightmares subsided slightly but didn’t go away. But she felt alive again, at the very least. She still didn’t like to be in the the throne room for too long, which Robert was atypically sympathetic to. She sat on Robert’s council. Some of them protested at the abnormality of a woman sitting with them, but before Robert could jump to her defense she’d silenced them with a harsh, decidedly unladylike glare and a few, icy words. He’d laughed and loudly proclaimed how glad he was to have married a she-wolf. Lyanna enjoyed when he called her that. At the beginning, he barely knew her at all, even if he thought he did. He'd loved her, yes, but it was clear enough to her that his love was based on her beauty. But as the years wore on he seemed to grow to love who she was as well. He loved her fiery nature, even comparing her to Brandon, often. She’d loved when people would compare her to Brandon growing up, and hearing it again always made her smile.

 

These small bits of happiness got her through her first three years as Queen until she began to give Robert children. And he loved their children well. While Lyanna could never truly be happy with a man that - despite how deeply he loved her - could never be loyal to her, seeing him with their children did spark some love for the man. Her children became her source of happiness, but also sorrow, often thinking of her first boy motherless in the North. 

 

The North seemed so far away now, as she gave Robert children so did Catelyn give them to Ned. Lyanna wished she could meet them. Wished she could see Winterfell’s courtyard filled with her brother's children's laughter. Ned wrote to her about them, each in detail, with the very occasional note about “his bastard”. Lyanna wished she knew more of him, beyond knowing he looked quite like Brandon, but infinitely more calm, to Ned’s relief. Catelyn and Ned had a brood of children quickly, and Lyanna tried to picture them as Ned described them  - with their auburn hair and blue eyes - but she wished she knew them. Arya, especially, who Ned admitted was a much a terror to her mother as Lyanna had been to their own. _She looks like you, as well,_  he wrote, _I tell her often. She wants to meet you._

 

It was a lovely thing when her first niece, little Sansa - who was of an age with her first by Robert, Brandon - wrote her beautiful, queenly aunt as soon as she could write. Lyanna immediately loved this niece she barely knew, who she was told by her brother was a Tully through and through, a perfect little lady. Besides these letters, she still longed for Winterfell. Even more now that in her dreams, she no longer saw the crypts with her brother standing before her, telling her to stop crying. Now she dreamt of children, of her son playing with his adoptive siblings. What was worse that she had no one to confide in, to speak to of her loneliness. No one who would understand that Queen Lyanna, who had everything, could also never have what she truly wanted. Still, through it all, she had Benjen. 

 

While Ned wrote her polite, acceptable letters, keeping even more distance between himself and his sister, Benjen never could treat his sister any differently. The sister he idolized, who he loved most in the world. She loved him just as much, Benjen had always her confidant, her little brother she’d loved so dearly but still left behind. But despite that, Benjen felt no differently about her, she was still his wolf-blooded sister who’d taught him to ride, who'd tucked him in at night, since he had no mother to do so, who'd let him crawl into her bed when he was afraid. Benjen seemed to value what she was to him more than her mistakes. Benjen understood her from the beginning more than anyone had, but forgave her easily, understanding her desperation to forge her own destiny. He was the only one who understood she wasn’t one to adhere to a fate she could not design herself. She wanted more - to _be_ more - than just another nobleman's wife, she didn't want her life to be controlled forever. And he always knew she would get what she wanted, in the end. Lyanna was not one to be controlled, and he’d been the only one to see that. They’d all seen the “wolf-blood” in her, but they did not realize one simple fact - that wolves are not meant to be caged. 

 

Benjen did, and was the only one of her siblings to know her well enough to see the signs that kept arising after Harrenhall. But Benjen was loyal to a fault. Loyal to their family, but to her above all else. He would do anything for her, if it meant her happiness. 

 

She’d been too naive, he’d been too loyal. Forever the wild girl leaping before looking, her little brother right behind her. They were so young, her only six-and-ten, him three-and-ten. They couldn’t have known what would happen, and in the end most siblings would’ve blamed the other. But Lyanna and Benjen understood each other too well, they both knew it was her doing, even if Benjen understood. Even if it had really been Rhaegar’s, between Benjen and Lyanna the blame was obvious. But Benjen never blamed her, never treated her differently than he always had.

 

But she knew he would never forgave himself for walking his beloved sister into the godswood that night so long ago. He would never forgive himself for handing her over to Rhaegar, and for everything that followed. He never spoke of it explicitly, probably out of fear of the letter being intercepted, but when she asked in a letter why he joined the Night’s Watch, he said it was because he could never shake the ghosts of Winterfell that still haunted him. That he saw in the war what love could do to a man, and he wanted no part of it. He chose his words carefully in this, as to make it seem he meant Robert, not the one who truly caused the war.

Benjen was the only one who felt as she did, and she loathed herself even more for being the source of his agony. But it still felt right, that all through their lives they’d kept each other's secrets out of an understanding of one another in a way that others never would. As the two children who were always less in their father’s eyes - the daughter, and the third son who their mother had died birthing - they’d found in one another someone who they could never disappoint. She loved Benjen so, and missed him more dearly than she could even voice. 

 

But there was one she longed for more. 

 

*

 

As the years wore on, she gave Robert two more healthy babes after Brandon. Cassana, for Robert’s mother, and Benjamin - they called him Benji - for her little brother. She was happy, if not entirely whole, still missing the one thing that could make it all worth it. 

 

Then, Ned held true to his promise. Ned asked Robert to accept Jon as a ward, citing Catelyn’s disdain for the boy. Robert gladly accepted, Lyanna could barely keep herself from crying when he told her, but sheer joy was written all over her face. It made Robert very happy - knowing how she missed the North - seeing her like that, and in that moment she was so grateful for her husband.

 

Jon, now seven, began to write often to his “aunt”, saying that he was nervous to leave Winterfell, and that his father had suggested he write to her. Lyanna had never loved Ned more.

 

When Jon finally went south at the age of eight, a handmaiden came to tell her Stark banners were spotted entering the capital. She dismissed her, and the moment the doors closed she wept with joy. 

 

She ran to greet her boy - her boy she barely knew, but loved fiercely - and he smiled at her and politely bowed with a “My Queen”. She quickly pulled up the boy and leaned down to embrace him, kissing his forehead.

 

Robert smiled and laughed, exclaiming how much like his father he looked. Jon smiled, and Robert clapped the boy on his back and ruffled his dark curls. Lyanna led him inside, and introduced him to his young “cousins”. 

Jon was initially anxious at being in a place so different from Winterfell, and he often expressed how much he missed his siblings, which Lyanna assured him how well she understood, with a promise that he would be happy here. He seemed doubtful, at first, but soon enough he began to open up more, growing closer with the princes and princess. Brandon and Jon got along swimmingly, and although Jon was older, Brandon was the leader in their mischief. Cassana adored Jon, and followed him around in a way that reminded Lyanna of herself and Brandon, to the point where it ignited the old, dull ache in her heart. But it was different now. She laughed at their antics, and sometimes she even felt as if Brandon was beside her, laughing with her.

 

Lyanna grew to know Jon well enough to know his solemn, quiet nature hid true sadness. She understood longing for something unreachable, remembering the girl she was that wanted so much more than to be a pawn in the game that nobility seemed to shape their lives around. 

 

She could see it in him, too. She could see the way he watched his half-siblings fight for her attention, it was clear he wanted that. Wanted a mother, wanted to truly belong to a family. Lyanna cursed Ned's wife for not doting on her little boy like he so deserved, even if she thought him a product of her husband's adultery, he was only a child. He deserved a mother, and she made sure he always felt included with her other children. She resolved to make him know how dearly he was loved, how much he deserved to be happy. She loved him, and it was obvious, but she could see the way his little face would fall when one of her younger children called her "Mother". 

 

He’d voiced it once, several months after his arrival, and they’d already grown very close. She’d been putting him to bed, and sweet Jon didn’t object as Brandon did, who claimed - at five - that he was too old to be tucked in. He’d mumbled, half asleep, that he wished she was his mother. Her heart broke, and not for the first time she cursed Robert, for although he loved her it was easier for her to blame Jon’s sadness on him instead of herself. She choked back her tears with a slight smile, kissing Jon’s forehead, and whispered to him, 

 

“Any woman would be blessed to have you as a son, sweetling.” Jon’s grey eyes - so like her own, he looked so like her, where her other children took after Robert - glistened with tears, and he nodded shakily. 

 

Lyanna sat on his lush bed - she’d insisted he would have as fine a room as the princes or princess - until his breathing slowed as he fell asleep. 

 

She ran her hand over his dark curls and whispered, 

 

“One day soon, my love, I’ll tell you everything.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead again,

 

“I love you, Jon.” 

 

*

 

After Jon’s sixteenth name-day, Lyanna had set to persuading Robert to legitimize Jon as Ned’s son. He would be Lord Jon Stark, but he would remain beneath all of Ned and Catelyn’s children in the line of succession. Robert heartily agreed, having grown quite fond of the boy who reminded him so much of his childhood friend. Robert thought it a kindness, where Lyanna thought it a necessity. He was growing too old to be fostered here much longer, and she wouldn't lose him again. Securing his title meant securing a place for him in King's Landing, so when Robert agreed Lyanna felt at ease once more.

Jon had been confused at first, but happy after the confusion passed. Although he expressed concern at the thought of Lady Catelyn’s reaction, Lyanna reassured him with a tight embrace,

 

“Don't worry about her. Enjoy today, never has there been a more worthy Stark.” Jon smiled softly, ducking his head bashfully,

 

“Thank you, M-Aunt Lyanna.” It was not his first slip-up. Lyanna thought of Rhaegar often when it happened, remembering what he’d said about Targaryens, that they sometimes had dreams about things to come, of truths. Never had Jon vocalized any suspicions, and no one else had either, to her relief. Although she worried sometimes that she was too tellingly demonstrative with him, but most seemed to assume it was simply because he looked so like a Stark. Most thought Jon reminded her of home and the brother and father she’d lost, and thought it was good for their queen, who was once so quiet and sad. 

But Varys watched them, and where it should've made Lyanna anxious, she couldn't feel true fear upon seeing the gentle smile on his face.

 

The night after Robert’s announcement of Jon’s legitimization, Lyanna was taking down her hair by herself, still clad in her fine silver and white dress - it was beautiful, but uncomfortable, she much preferred dressing in her riding clothes, although it made her look like a pretty boy instead of a queen - from the feast she'd arranged for Jon. She preferred to be alone at this time of night, without her maids. She liked taking her own hair down, as she did in Winterfell. She was humming softly to herself, positively overjoyed for her boy, and thinking of the promise she’d made to his little sleeping form eight years ago. Then, a knock came at the door.  Lyanna pulled the last part of the braid free, and let her dark curls tumble down her back. 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“Aunt Lyanna - it’s me, Jon.” Lyanna smiled, 

 

“Come in!” The door opened slowly, and Lyanna beamed at him. She held his face in her hands gently, and admired her handsome boy. He had developed a slight scruff, making him look even more like Brandon to her, even if most said he looked like Ned.

 

“Did you enjoy yourself? I know you’re not one for dancing, but Lady Myrcella seemed eager. And she's not as awful as her mother, thank the gods.” Jon smiled and coughed to hide his laugh, 

 

“Lady Cersei _is_ quite awful. “ Lyanna smirked, 

 

“Bless Stannis for hating court, I'd probably would've rung her neck by now if I had to pretend to enjoy her all the time.” Jon smirked and chuckled. But then he nodded sharply, stepping away from her,

 

“Right. Yes.” He bit his lower lip, tellingly nervous. Lyanna’s brow furrowed. 

 

“What’s troubling you, Jon?” He kept his gaze fixed to the floor, and began to pace about her room, searching for words. His slight, thoughtful frown coupled with his pacing reminded Lyanna painfully of Rhaegar. Before that thought strayed too far, Jon heaved a deep breath. He looked her in the eye, his own eyes soft,

 

“You’ve been so kind to me.” Lyanna smiled softly, 

 

“Of course you - “ 

 

“But I don’t understand it - _why?_ I just, I’ve been thinking a lot about it, for a long time. And it’s not…normal. Even though we’re family, I’m just a bastard, and you’re the queen - “ Lyanna shook her head, and spoke fiercely,

 

“No - you are a _Stark_. You’ve always been a Stark, bastard or not.” Jon blinked, visibly moved. He was quiet for a long time. And then he swallowed hard and spoke, more sure of himself,

 

“Father told me…He told me - before I left Winterfell - that when I was born, that you wanted me to come here when I was old enough.” Lyanna blinked, she didn’t think Ned would divulge that to him, "And he always said that it was because you didn’t want Lady Catelyn to mistreat me but…why would you care? I’ve always wondered why…and he would never tell me. And I know we’re family, but….for someone like me to be living here in the Red Keep, raised beside princes and princesses…It’s just not - I just…I don’t understand. _No one’s_ ever - not even Father - no one’s ever cared like you and…” He trailed off, lost for words.

 

Lyanna smiled softly at him, and decided, _now was the time_. She’d done her best to make sure he knew he was loved, but it wasn’t enough. Ned had loved him, he’d known the love of his adoptive siblings in the North, and the love of Brandon, Cassana and Benji. But he still felt lost, like he didn’t belong. 

 

He’d had her, of course, everyday from the time he was eight, and she’d been as much a mother to him as she could be without suspicions arising. But it wasn’t anything in comparison to having a mother - knowing your mother loved you - Lyanna understood that better than most. It had broken her heart every day of the past sixteen years, thinking of Jon wondering if his mother was out there, if she loved him. It had haunted her ever since Ned had rode to the North with her babe.

 

Lyanna put her hands on her boy’s shoulders, he was taller than her now, but she still couldn’t look at this young man without thinking of the dark haired, squalling babe laid in her arms in Dorne a lifetime ago. She sat him in her chair by the hearth, and knelt before him. Jon looked so young in that moment - wide eyed and apprehensive - that Lyanna couldn’t help but smile. 

 

“Jon, has Ned ever told you about the war?” Jon blinked, before shaking his head,

 

“He never did, really. But Robb and I used to hear stories from Ser Rodrik and Old Nan. That…” Jon trailed off, visibly uncomfortable, “That Rhaegar Targaryen stole you away. Then Uncle Brandon went to rescue you, and the Mad King killed him, and Grandfather.” Lyanna couldn't help the pain that still coursed through her at the memories, remembering gripping her growing stomach as she fell to the floor in her tower, Rhaegar holding her as she screamed and wept for her family and the horror that her naivety had caused.  

 

She made him swear - when she heard that Ned, Robert and Jon Arryn had called their banners - that he wouldn’t leave her, that he wouldn’t raise his sword to her family. And he’d sworn it, out of love for her. He’d stayed with her, until the time came that the Rebellion seemed to be leaning in Robert's favor, with the defeat of Rhaegar's friend, for whom they'd named their son. He broke his promise, and in the end - although he loved her fiercely - could not hide away in Dorne while his family was in danger. Lyanna understood, although at the time all she could picture was her dragon striking Ned down. 

Then he’d left her, with a promise to return to her and their child, and a kiss that would be their last. He left her behind with her roses and their babe growing in her belly. 

 

Lyanna choked back her tears, and Jon reached forward to take her trembling hand in his, 

 

“I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to -"

 

“No, it’s…it’s alright. I just don’t like to…I don’t like thinking of it, thinking of all the - the horror this place saw.” She shook, her eyes falling to the floor, “I hate being here, Jon. All of it, everything that happened, _it was all because of me_. I was selfish, and my family paid for it.” Jon’s brow furrowed in confusion, 

 

“It wasn’t your fault. The prince stole you, it was him, you…” He trailed off at the agonizing pain written all over her lovely face.

 

“I loved him.” She admitted, tearfully. She'd never said it to anyone. “I loved him, and my brother and father died for it.” Jon looked so stricken, different emotions warring in his eyes. Lyanna smiled so lovingly that Jon had to focus to breathe. Jon frowned solemnly, and fixed his gaze on the floor, and Lyanna tilted his chin up to look him in the eye, 

 

“But, sweetling, seeing you for the first time, holding you in my arms…I wouldn’t change anything. I would go through it all again a thousand times, just for that moment.” Jon trembled, fumbling over his words. He understood. But he was silent, and Lyanna nearly broke at what that could mean, she could never bare it if he hated her like she so deserved. Anyone else, she could take it, but not him.  

 

“I’m so sorry, Jon. I’m sorry that I - that I couldn’t tell you, that you didn’t know for so long, that I lied to you. But I was so afraid of you being taken from me. I couldn’t have…after everything…I...” Lyanna’s heart was racing, the hysteria she felt losing him the first time coming back in waves. Jon’s hands were trembling. Lyanna grabbed them from his lap and squeezed them,

 

“I’m so - “ Jon laughed, eyes wet, 

 

“No I - I’ve always wanted…I’ve always dreamt of you being my mother.” He smiled, and Lyanna’s heart ached with happiness she hadn’t truly felt in years, “I never thought - I never thought I would have -“ Lyanna leapt up, hugging him tightly to her, 

 

“You’ve always had me, Jon. Every day and every night I couldn’t be with you, all I would do is think about you. If you were happy, what it would have been like if things were different. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy, sweetling.” Jon clutched at her, pressing his face to her hair, 

 

“I am happy...I’m _so_ happy.” Hearing that, Lyanna ran her hand over her son’s dark curls. 

 

“I'm so glad. And I am so _proud_ that you are my son. I’m so sorry you didn’t know that for so long.” Jon smiled softly, 

 

“You were just protecting me, because - because you...” Lyanna smiled, deliriously happy, 

 

“Because you are my son. And I love you more than you will ever know.” Jon’s eyes grew moist again, burying his face into her shoulder,  

 

“I love you too, Mother."

 

*

In the end, she flees her home again with a Targaryen prince.

Lyanna thought she'd learned her lesson in expecting happiness. At six-and-ten, she'd left her home, thinking she and her dragon would ride off into the sunset, where she would be his Visenya and he would love her for that, not just her beauty. At thirty-two, she thought now that she finally could be a true mother to Jon, that everything would be perfect from then on.

But then the whispers rose of a Dragon Queen rising in the east. Over the years, Lyanna had been more wary of this girl than most. When she was wed to Khal Drogo, everyone ignored it, saying the Dothraki had never crossed the Narrow Sea and never would. When word came that she had three dragons, everyone brushed it off, saying the last dragons had been the size of cats. But Lyanna listened, and Lyanna planned. She was not the naive girl she was, and would not allow her children to befall the fate of Rhaegar's should this queen succeed in her conquest. 

Then word - not whispers, or rumors - came that Daenerys Targaryen was preparing to sail west, now having conquered cities, having acquired armies, and ships. All the while with dragons at her side, their heads as large as carriages, like the dragons of Aegon the Conquerer and his sisters. With the Targaryen queen coming to their door, all hell broke loose at once. Coups were staged in Dorne, White Walkers awoke in the North, the Lannisters plotted to overthrow House Baratheon before the last Targaryen crossed the Narrow Sea, as to save themselves once more with treachery. 

Lyanna had thought she'd planned well, she'd planned to take all of her children to the Wall, to Benjen. But Benjen had vanished. And in the end, it seemed there was no where to go. She panicked, and all she could do was keep her children close to her, and wait.  

Then a savior appeared for her, after word had reached them that Daenerys had been spotted only miles from the harbor. Lyanna and her four children were sitting in her chambers, with six Kingsguard outside. They were all solemn and silent, but the silence was broken by a creak in the wall. A hidden door opened, with all three of her sons immediately reaching for their swords, but Lyanna raised a hand to stop them as the cloaked figure revealed himself.   
  
Varys stood before her, rushing to her side and taking her hands,

"If you want to save your children you must come with me." He said, urgently. Lyanna pulled her hands from his grasp, gaze hard,

"Why - _how_ could you possibly help us? There is  _nowhere_ to go! Death walks in the North, the Dragon Queen is at our gates - "  
  
" _Yes._ Queen Daenerys is here, _now_ , and I believe your boy may save your lives." Lyanna's eyes widened, mouth agape. Jon had gone very still. Brandon took a tentative step towards her,  
  
"Mother? What does he - " Lyanna rounded on her children, 

"Put on your cloaks. We must leave  _now._ " None of her children ever disobeyed her, and in this moment none questioned her. But the time for questions would come.

Jon walked beside her, meeting her stride for stride as they walked through the dark passage with Varys. 

* 

In the end, Queen Daenerys sat the Iron Throne her ancestors meant for her.

Varys had saved Lyanna and her children, for which Lyanna would be forever grateful. Brandon, Cassana and Benjamin were allowed to live by the grace of the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and for the love between her brother and their mother. 

And in the end, somehow Lyanna's boy, once Jon Snow, then Lord Jon Stark became Prince Jon Targaryen, the prince who was promised. The man who fulfilled his destiny, the destiny Rhaegar spoke of - _the song of ice and fire._ Her boy became the man who saved more than just the Realm from the Long Night. 

 _He_ was the song of ice and fire.

In the end, Lyanna decided it was all worth it.


End file.
